The Other Side of Darkness (9 page)

“Why can’t Cynthia have Bible study at her house?” Rick scowls after I finish my little announcement. I thought it might soften him if I fixed meat loaf for lunch, since it’s his favorite, but I suspect he can see right through me.

“Her house is pretty small, and she thinks the Lord is going to bless our family by having it here.”

He makes a little groan and shakes his head.

“It’ll be over by eleven,” I promise. “And you hardly ever get up before noon anyway.”

“You
really
want to do this?” He studies me closely as he takes another helping of mashed potatoes.

“I think it would be good for me,” I tell him, hoping it’s the truth.

“Well, then I guess it’s okay. But just for the record, I don’t really trust Cynthia Leman.”

“Why?”

He shrugs as he digs his fork into the potatoes. “She kinda gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Oh, that’s silly.”

“Don’t be so sure, Ruth. All that prophecy stuff and giving words at church,” he continues with his mouth full, “it just rubs against the grain. How can you believe what they say? It sounds like a bunch of phony baloney to me. And some of it’s just plain mean-spirited. Besides, what about when Jesus said, ‘Let he who is without sin throw the first stone’? Glenn and Cynthia seem to throw stones right and left.”

I know he’s referring to church yesterday. It was like pulling teeth to get him to go in the first place. And then he just sat there, frowning. I hate to admit it, but my husband is spiritually immature. More and more I feel that Rick and I are unequally yoked. He seems to be stuck in the spiritual dark ages while I am slowly but steadily moving forward, slowly but steadily being enlightened and spiritually stretched and renewed. At least he’s not too opposed to having the Bible study in our house. That’s a small victory. And maybe, like Cynthia promised, our family will be blessed for this. Maybe Rick will begin to take his spirituality more seriously. Maybe he’ll even want to join Pastor Glenn’s men’s group.

Feeling spiritually strong, I call Colleen on Tuesday night. I’m all
ready to be a light and an encourager to her, but I can tell she’s got her hands full, fixing dinner for her family. I can hear her boys yelling in the background, and it sounds like someone’s in pain. “Call me back when you’re not busy,” I quickly tell her.

“How about if we do coffee tomorrow morning? Like we used to do.”

Before I have a chance for second thoughts, I agree to meet her at church after we drop the kids off, but I’ve barely hung up when I wonder if I’ve just made a big mistake.

The next morning I’m barely in Colleen’s car when I’m certain I shouldn’t have done this.

“What’s with Cynthia?” she asks as she exits the church parking lot.

“Huh?”

“Why was she giving you that look right before we left?”

I shrug. “You must be imagining it.” I try to redirect our conversation by telling her that I’m Cynthia’s new prayer partner.

“You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m serious. I was honored to be asked. Our first study is Friday at my house, and I was hoping you might want to come.”

“I work on Fridays.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t come. I can’t believe you want to be her prayer partner. Don’t you know that Cynthia’s a mess?”

“A mess?”

“She’s nuts, Ruth. Everyone knows it.”

I stare at Colleen like she’s a stranger.

“Okay, maybe she’s not nuts.” Colleen sighs loudly. “But our church is in trouble. And I think it’s just a matter of time before Pastor Glenn and Cynthia are both history. Carl too. He’s getting way too caught up in their fun and games.”

“Fun and games?”

“Oh, you know. Their spiritual charades, witch hunts—call it whatever you like. It’s crazy. And Shauna told me about last week.”

“Are you taking up an offense because of that?”

“Well, that was bad enough. But she’s only one person. Lots of people are hurting from what’s going on at church.”

“Sometimes the truth hurts,” I say as we arrive at the coffee shop and get out of the car. “But ultimately it is healing.”

“The truth?” She turns to look at me. “Do you really believe that?”

I nod.

“Wow …”

“Pastor Glenn says it’s not easy to discipline his sheep, but it’s for their own good. It’s so they don’t get—”

“Discipline?” She shakes her head. “Is that what he calls it?”

We’re standing by the door now, and I’m not sure I want to go in. I’m not sure I want to be subjected to Colleen’s anger and judgment.

“He’s not disciplining his sheep, Ruth.” She opens the door. “He’s
beating
them.”

Fortunately, we stop discussing this as we order our coffees, but I feel shaken as we go and sit down. I don’t know what to say to Colleen. All I can do is silently pray for the Lord to help me.
Help me to help Colleen see the light. She is trapped in darkness
.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this right now,” she says as she blows on her mocha. “I might get so fired up that I start yelling.”

I nod. “Yes. Let’s not make a scene.”

She laughs. “Remember that night at Denny’s in high school?”

I make a face. “No, and I don’t want to.”

“We used to be such hellions.” She sighs as if she regrets that things have changed.

“The Lord has cleansed us from all of that, Colleen.” I study her. “And I’m sure you would never want to go back to that sinful lifestyle.”

“Not really. But sometimes I think we, as Christians, get a little too uptight.”

“We need to be on our guard,” I remind her. “Satan is prowling around like a lion, waiting to devour us. We need to be ready.”

She waves her hand. “Oh, that lion had his teeth pulled out, Ruth. And he’s been declawed too. Remember that Jesus defeated him on the cross. Sure, we need to be aware that Satan is still around, but we don’t need to be afraid.”

“I’m not saying we need to be afraid. I just think we need to be prepared and equipped and on guard. We need to be wearing God’s armor. We’re in a spiritual battle, you know. We need to defend ourselves.”

She sighs. “But that shouldn’t be our only focus. Paranoid people like Pastor Glenn and Cynthia give Satan all the power when they only talk about being on the defensive. Why not be on the offensive and focus on God’s power and strength instead?”

“Maybe we should talk about something else.” I feel uneasy now. What if Pastor Glenn or Cynthia somehow found out what Colleen just said about them?

“So, how do your girls like school?”

I kind of shrug.

“Have they told you about morning devotions?”

I shake my head no and nervously sip my Americano.

“Well, Kyle and Jacob have told me. And Dennis and I made a formal complaint to the board last week.”

“Why?”

“Because Pastor Glenn is scaring my kids to death! Jason’s been having nightmares, and Kyle drew a really creepy picture of a demon.”

I don’t tell her that Sarah’s had nightmares too. But then Sarah has such a vivid imagination. I worry that she’s going to become a drama queen by the time she hits adolescence. I need to pray for her more.

“How are you and Dennis doing?” I finally remember the purpose of my phone call last night—to encourage and uplift my friend during times of trouble.

“We’re fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why? What have you heard?” She leans forward like she expects me to tell her some juicy piece of gossip. “Did someone say we were getting divorced or that we became swingers or something?” She laughs. “Actually I did threaten to run away last night, but that’s just because the twins were making me nuts, and I guess I was having PMS. Then Dennis sent me upstairs to take a bath while he cleaned the entire kitchen.” She grinned. “Can’t complain about that.”

“That was nice of him.”

“Yeah, he can be pretty nice. But how about you guys? How are you doing? You getting used to Rick’s new hours yet?”

“I guess.”

“Man, I think it’d be such a drag to be home alone every night. Maybe you and I should do something sometime. Have girls’ night
out or something. We could take in a chick flick. Dennis is a nice guy, but he hates chick flicks.”

I glance at my watch.

“Are you in a hurry or something?”

“It’s just that I promised Rick I’d start looking for a job.” As we drive back to the church, she tells me they might be hiring where she works at the Med Center, and I act interested. But mostly I just want her to drop me off and end this. Although she seems oblivious, acting as if we just had fun.

I force a smile as we say good-bye, but it’s obvious that Colleen doesn’t take her spiritual welfare too seriously. I suspect she’s the one who’d been gossiping with poor Shauna Banks. I won’t be surprised if Colleen is publicly reprimanded before long. She’s stepping way over the line.

I glance around the church parking lot, hoping that Cynthia isn’t around to see me. I know that I owe her an explanation, and I’ll have to tell her that she’s right about Colleen too. I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised. Colleen really was a wild child back in high school. Come to think of it, she was pretty influential on me back then too. Still, I never took things as far as she did. I’ve never asked her, but I sometimes wonder if her past has haunted her marriage. What would Dennis think if he knew about her background with the guys?

As I drive home, I ask the Lord to forgive me for rubbing up against Colleen’s darkness, and I ask him to protect me from becoming critical of the church like she has. And I promise to avoid her in the future. Colleen is dangerous, with the ability to contaminate me. And I do not want to be contaminated. As I pull into the driveway, an invasive sense of uncleanness comes over me. I was
wrong to spend time with Colleen. I know I need cleansing. Real cleansing.

The house is quiet and empty, with no one to see me as I remove all my clothes and place them one by one in the washing machine. I wrap myself in a clean towel from the dryer, a towel that is now contaminated by me. Then I tiptoe through the house, hunched down because the blinds are open and I don’t want to be seen by a neighbor. I go into the master bathroom, lock the door, then check to make sure it’s really locked before I drop the unclean towel into the laundry hamper and step into the shower, where I wash and scrub, wash and scrub, over and over, until my skin is raw and red, until the water runs cold. But I continue scrubbing and washing in the cold water.

This is my punishment. I deserve it.

O
n Friday, Cynthia comes thirty minutes early so we can pray before Bible study. But after she’s inside my house, instead of praying she begins to walk around. She’s looking at everything, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking. But I’m relieved that I spent most of yesterday cleaning. The windows are gleaming, and there’s not a speck of dust to be found anywhere. But even so, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells, and I’m sure that if anyone could spot something amiss, it would be Cynthia. Or my mother.

Finally she stands in the living room, where we plan to have the Bible study. But she seems to be stuck in front of a photo montage that hangs on the wall above an old chest of drawers that has been in Rick’s family for generations. I have to admit that I’m somewhat proud of this arrangement. It took me the better part of a painstaking week to get those antique photos just right, and that was only after I did numerous sketches on pieces of drafting paper, carefully plotting the whole thing out to scale so it would fit exactly. I suppose I’m expecting her to compliment me on this decorating accomplishment.

“How can you bear to look at this every day?” she finally says, pointing to an old sepia-toned photograph of my great-grandparents on my mother’s side.

“What?”

“Look at those eyes.” She points to the man’s dark and penetrating gaze. “So evil.”

“Evil?” I study the antique photo more carefully, and I must admit the fellow looks a bit grim. But so does the woman. “How can you tell?”

She taps her chest. “I can just
feel
it. In here.”

“Oh.”

“That man definitely has a dark spirit.” She turns and looks at me with concern. “Oh, it’s not your fault, Ruth. So many of our ancestors were like that; it’s a generational curse. But to hang this photograph right here in your house, exposing your children, your family to this dark spirit …” She shakes her head. “Well, I don’t recommend it. And I don’t like the idea of having it here during Bible study.”

“Should I take it down?” I feel a mixture of alarm and shame as I stare at my ancestors’ photo. Why hadn’t I picked up on this before?

“At least for Bible study. What you do afterward is up to you.”

I remove the photograph, leaving a gaping hole where it had hung. Then I look once more into those dark eyes and feel certain that she’s right. They do have a sinister cast to them. I open the top drawer of the old chest and am about to put the picture in when Cynthia puts her hand on my arm.

“Not in here. Remember, this is where the Bible study group will gather. We don’t want any evil spirits around to bother us, Ruth.”

“What should I do with it?”

“Put it as far from this room as possible. Maybe the garage.”

So I take the photograph out to the garage, and after wrapping it in one of Rick’s old rags, I set it on an empty storage shelf, shoving it way in the back. But as I walk into the house, I wonder if I should’ve taken it out to the trash. Because even though it’s wrapped
and hidden, it’s as if I can feel those eyes still staring at me, perhaps even bringing down a family curse from previous generations. But I push these thoughts away as I return to my living room, where Cynthia is now seated on the couch.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile. “I hope I didn’t offend you by my observation. It’s only that my spirit is so sensitive to these sorts of things, and I just want you and your family to be safe.”

“No, it’s quite all right. I actually appreciate it. And I really want my spirit to become more sensitive too. Who knows what else I might have in here that’s giving bad vibes.”

She nods. “It can be tricky, you know. The devil is the great Deceiver.” She glances around the room. “But I think we’re okay for the time being. I’ll let you know if I pick up on anything else. Shall we pray now?”